As she retired a woman remarked:
'Mrs. 'Odges is very clever, I think.'
'Yus,' remarked another, 'she got me through my last confinement
simply wonderful. If it come to choosin' between 'em I'd back Mrs.
'Odges against forty doctors.'
'Ter tell yer the truth, so would I. I've never known 'er wrong yet.'
Mrs. Hodges sat down beside Mrs. Kemp and proceeded to comfort her.
'Why don't yer tike a little drop of brandy ter calm yer nerves, Mrs.
Kemp?' she said, 'you want it.'
'I was just feelin' rather faint, an' I couldn't 'elp thinkin' as 'ow
twopenneth of whisky 'ud do me good.'
'Na, Mrs. Kemp,' said Mrs. Hodges, earnestly, putting her hand on the
other's arm. 'You tike my tip--when you're queer there's nothin' like
brandy for pullin' yer togither. I don't object to whisky myself, but
as a medicine yer can't beat brandy.'
'Well, I won't set up myself as knowin' better than you Mrs. 'Odges;
I'll do wot you think right.'
Quite accidentally there was some in the room, and Mrs. Kemp poured it
out for herself and her friend.
'I'm not in the 'abit of tikin' anythin' when I'm aht on business,'
she apologized, 'but just ter keep you company I don't mind if I do.'
'Your 'ealth. Mrs. 'Odges.'
'Sime ter you, an' thank yer, Mrs. Kemp.'
Liza lay still, breathing very quietly, her eyes closed. The doctor
kept his fingers on her pulse.
'I've been very unfortunate of lite,' remarked Mrs. Hodges, as she
licked her lips, 'this mikes the second death I've 'ad in the last ten
days--women, I mean, of course I don't count bibies.'
'Yer don't sy so.'
'Of course the other one--well, she was only a prostitute, so it
didn't so much matter. It ain't like another woman is it?'
'Na, you're right.'
'Still, one don't like 'em ter die, even if they are thet. One mustn't
be too 'ard on 'em.'
'Strikes me you've got a very kind 'eart, Mrs. 'Odges,' said Mrs. Kemp.
'I 'ave thet; an' I often says it 'ud be better for my peace of mind
an' my business if I 'adn't. I 'ave ter go through a lot, I do; but I
can say this for myself, I always gives satisfaction, an' thet's
somethin' as all lidies in my line can't say.'
They sipped their brandy for a while.
'It's a great trial ter me that this should 'ave 'appened,' said Mrs.
Kemp, coming to the subject that had been disturbing her for some
time. 'Mine's always been a very respectable family, an' such a thing
as this 'as never 'appened before. No, Mrs. 'Odges, I was lawfully
married in church, an' I've got my marriage lines now ter show I was,
an' thet one of my daughters should 'ave gone wrong in this way--well,
I can't understand it. I give 'er a good education, an' she 'ad all
the comforts of a 'ome. She never wanted for nothin'; I worked myself
to the bone ter keep 'er in luxury, an' then thet she should go an'
disgrace me like this!'
'I understand wot yer mean. Mrs. Kemp.'
'I can tell you my family was very respectable; an' my 'usband, 'e
earned twenty-five shillings a week, an' was in the sime plice
seventeen years; an' 'is employers sent a beautiful wreath ter put on
'is coffin; an' they tell me they never 'ad such a good workman an'
sich an 'onest man before. An' me! Well, I can sy this--I've done my
duty by the girl, an' she's never learnt anythin' but good from me. Of
course I ain't always been in wot yer might call flourishing
circumstances, but I've always set her a good example, as she could
tell yer so 'erself if she wasn't speechless.'
Mrs. Kemp paused for a moment's reflection.
'As they sy in the Bible,' she finished, 'it's enough ter mike one's
grey 'airs go dahn into the ground in sorrer. I can show yer my
marriage certificate. Of course one doesn't like ter say much, because
of course she's very bad; but if she got well I should 'ave given 'er
a talkin' ter.'
There was another knock.
'Do go an' see 'oo thet is; I can't, on account of my rheumatics.'
Mrs. Hodges opened the door. It was Jim.
He was very white, and the blackness of his hair and beard,
contrasting with the deathly pallor of his face, made him look
ghastly. Mrs. Hodges stepped back.
''Oo's 'e?' she said, turning to Mrs. Kemp.
Jim pushed her aside and went up to the bed.
'Doctor, is she very bad?' he asked.
The doctor looked at him questioningly.
Jim whispered: 'It was me as done it. She ain't goin' ter die, is
she?'
The doctor nodded.
'O God! wot shall I do? It was my fault! I wish I was dead!'
Jim took the girl's head in his hands, and the tears burst from his
eyes.
'She ain't dead yet, is she?'
'She's just living,' said the doctor.
Jim bent down.
'Liza, Liza, speak ter me! Liza, say you forgive me! Oh, speak ter
me!'
His voice was full of agony. The doctor spoke.
'She can't hear you.'
'Oh, she must hear me! Liza! Liza!'
He sank on his knees by the bedside.
They all remained silent: Liza lying stiller than ever, her breast
unmoved by the feeble respiration, Jim looking at her very mournfully;
the doctor grave, with his fingers on the pulse. The two women looked
at Jim.
'Fancy it bein' 'im!' said Mrs. Kemp. 'Strike me lucky, ain't 'e a
sight!'
'You 'ave got 'er insured, Mrs. Kemp?' asked the midwife. She could
bear the silence no longer.
'Trust me fur thet!' replied the good lady. 'I've 'ad 'er insured ever
since she was born. Why, only the other dy I was sayin' ter myself
thet all thet money 'ad been wisted, but you see it wasn't; yer never
know yer luck, you see!'
'Quite right, Mrs. Kemp; I'm a rare one for insurin'. It's a great
thing. I've always insured all my children.'
'The way I look on it is this,' said Mrs. Kemp--'wotever yer do when
they're alive, an' we all know as children is very tryin' sometimes,
you should give them a good funeral when they dies. Thet's my motto,
an' I've always acted up to it.'
'Do you deal with Mr. Stearman?' asked Mrs. Hodges.
'No, Mrs. 'Odges, for undertikin' give me Mr. Footley every time. In the
black line 'e's fust an' the rest nowhere!'
'Well, thet's very strange now--thet's just wot I think. Mr. Footley
does 'is work well, an' 'e's very reasonable. I'm a very old customer
of 'is, an' 'e lets me 'ave things as cheap as anybody.'
'Does 'e indeed! Well Mrs. 'Odges if it ain't askin' too much of yer, I
should look upon it as very kind if you'd go an' mike the arrangements
for Liza.'
'Why, certainly, Mrs. Kemp. I'm always willin' ter do a good turn to
anybody, if I can.'
'I want it done very respectable,' said Mrs. Kemp; 'I'm not goin' ter
stint for nothin' for my daughter's funeral. I like plumes, you know,
although they is a bit extra.'
'Never you fear, Mrs. Kemp, it shall be done as well as if it was for
my own 'usbind, an' I can't say more than thet. Mr. Footley thinks a
deal of me, 'e does! Why, only the other dy as I was goin' inter 'is
shop 'e says "Good mornin', Mrs. 'Odges." "Good mornin', Mr. Footley,"
says I. "You've jest come in the nick of time," says 'e. "This
gentleman an' myself," pointin' to another gentleman as was standin'
there, "we was 'avin' a bit of an argument. Now you're a very
intelligent woman, Mrs. 'Odges, and a good customer too." "I can say
thet for myself," say I, "I gives yer all the work I can." "I believe
you," says 'e. "Well," 'e says, "now which do you think? Does hoak
look better than helm, or does helm look better than hoak? Hoak
_versus_ helm, thet's the question." "Well, Mr. Footley," says I, "for
my own private opinion, when you've got a nice brass plite in the
middle, an' nice brass 'andles each end, there's nothin' like hoak."
"Quite right," says 'e, "thet's wot I think; for coffins give me hoak
any day, an' I 'ope," says 'e, "when the Lord sees fit ter call me to
'Imself, I shall be put in a hoak coffin myself." "Amen," says I.'
'I like hoak,' said Mrs. Kemp. 'My poor 'usband 'e 'ad a hoak coffin.
We did 'ave a job with 'im, I can tell yer. You know 'e 'ad dropsy,
an' 'e swell up--oh, 'e did swell; 'is own mother wouldn't 'ave known
'im. Why, 'is leg swell up till it was as big round as 'is body, swop
me bob, it did.'
'Did it indeed!' ejaculated Mrs. Hodges.
'Yus, an' when 'e died they sent the coffin up. I didn't 'ave Mr.
Footley at thet time; we didn't live 'ere then, we lived in Battersea,
an' all our undertikin' was done by Mr. Brownin'; well, 'e sent the
coffin up, an' we got my old man in, but we couldn't get the lid down,
he was so swell up. Well, Mr. Brownin', 'e was a great big man,
thirteen stone if 'e was a ounce. Well, 'e stood on the coffin, an' a
young man 'e 'ad with 'im stood on it too, an' the lid simply wouldn't
go dahn; so Mr. Browning', 'e said, "Jump on, missus," so I was in my
widow's weeds, yer know, but we 'ad ter git it dahn, so I stood on it,
an' we all jumped, an' at last we got it to, an' screwed it; but,
lor', we did 'ave a job; I shall never forget it.'
Then all was silence. And a heaviness seemed to fill the air like a
grey blight, cold and suffocating; and the heaviness was Death. They
felt the presence in the room, and they dared not move, they dared not
draw their breath. The silence was terrifying.
Suddenly a sound was heard--a loud rattle. It was from the bed and
rang through the room, piercing the stillness.
The doctor opened one of Liza's eyes and touched it, then he laid on
her breast the hand he had been holding, and drew the sheet over her
head.
Jim turned away with a look of intense weariness on his face, and the
two women began weeping silently. The darkness was sinking before the
day, and a dim, grey light came through the window. The lamp
spluttered out.